You Can Never Be Too Careful
by anxiousgeek
Summary: House/Cameron, House dresses a cut. Set a little post 4.14, before House's Head. Some Chase/Cameron and mentions of past House/Cuddy.
1. You Can Never Be Too Careful

The ER was perfect for Cameron, as it turned out. The turn around of patients didn't leave much time to get too involved with anyone. It was so busy that she didn't even have to do clinic duty, so no picking up any dying waifs or strays from there.

Plus she didn't have to care.

She did, of course, she felt every car crash victim she couldn't save keenly, but while every name and mangled face remained with her, she moved on quickly, moved onto the next person who needed her care and attention. She moved on and in turn had more time to put her emotions into her friends and colleagues, her family. Chase.

That was the idea, and it was like that a lot of the time. She saved a lot of lives, saved people, stabilised them so that the rest of the hospital could care for them. Reassured parents their children would be fine, told people as they were coming back from unconsciousness that they would be alright, that they were okay, then moved onto the next one. She did her paperwork and went home. Sometimes to Chase, sometimes alone.

She didn't miss House.

She was a terrible liar.

There was still the excitement (trying to deal with fourteen car pile ups always got the blood pumping) and the odd mystery (sometimes people with odd items in odd places came straight to ER) but no House.

Unless he was sitting at her Nurses Station, which happened more often than either of them liked to admit.

She reached over him to take another pair of latex gloves from the box, blocking his view of his National Inquirer for a whole second. He grabbed her arm and she hissed in pain, snapping it back.

"What did you do?" he asked, sitting up, his feet dropping heavily to the floor.

"We had a guy in earlier, he was mentally ill, waving a knife around," she said, looking at the blood seeping through the thin material of the pink scrubs, sighing. She'd only changed a few minutes ago, the cut had not long stopped bleeding. "Security knocked him down, the police took him away," she said, "he'll probably be back in psyche tomorrow."

"He was probably jonesing and just wanted drugs," House said, "did you get anyone to look at your arm?"

"It's fine," she said, looking at his face, "I am a doctor you know."

"Let me see." She held her arm out and he rolled up her sleeve slowly, his finger brushing over her goosebumps. "Doesn't look too bad," he said, running the rough pads of his fingertips round the cut. "Let me dress it."

"In case you haven't noticed I have a busy ER to run."

"I had noticed."

"Wanna help out?"

"Nope. I do want to dress this cut though." He was still holding onto her wrist and she huffed out a breath, turning her arm in his warmth until he let go.

"Okay."

They entered her office with enough supplies to reattach a limb piled in her arms, House holding the door open with his cane. He limped over to her sofa and sat down, Cameron following and dropping everything onto the space between them. He rolled his eyes and shuffled closer, pushing band aids, dressings and steri-strips to the floor.

He reached out and took her hand, pushing up the sleeve that had fallen down again, holding her hand tightly for a moment, as he inspected her cut, before letting go. She froze, unsure if she should pull away or let her arm hover in the air, until he made the decision for her, pushing her hand down to rest on his knee.

"Unclench," he said, and she stretched out her fingers then cupped his knee, shifting her body to face the back of the sofa and sit comfortably.

He cleaned up the blood around the cut with one antiseptic wipe, tossing it into the trash can, then cleaned the cut itself with another. She hissed again, her fingers tightening around his knee momentarily.

"That hurt?"

"Yea."

"Good," he looked up at her, "means the antiseptic is still working."

"You can never be too careful," she said with a small smile. She couldn't remember the last time she saw House be caring like this, if ever, and it was more intimate than any moment she had ever shared with him.

"These wipes could be decades old," he muttered, looking at the cut again, bent over her arm.

"I doubt it, we go through a lot."

"Lots of scraped knees."

"Sometimes."

"No sarcoidosis or lupus..."

"It's never lupus," she cut in.

"No haemochromatosis or Addison's," he continued, wiping the cut in circular motions, "no..."

"I think it's clean," she said and he paused mid-wipe, looking up at her.

"You can never be too careful," he said with a slight smile. He threw the wipe into the trash can, muttering, "two for two," to himself. "Doesn't need stitches."

"I didn't think so," Cameron said, "being a doctor and all."

"A senior attending no less." He took some steri strips and started pulling the edges of her cut together, pausing every time she hissed in pain. "I never told you how proud I am."

"Of me?" The words were chocked out in a squeak.

"Yeah," he placed another strip on the cut.

"Really?" She was waiting for the insult or the sarcasm.

"ER, that's good, assuming you didn't sleep with Cuddy to get the job."

"No."

"Shame, but well done."

"Thank you," she smiled, squeezing his knee lightly. He didn't reply or react, just wrapped her arm in a small bandage and pinned it up.

"There you go," he pulled her sleeve down and looked up at her, to find her smiling at him still, eyes a little watery. He frowned.

"Thanks."

"We, should," he paused, hesitating over his words, "I should buy you a drink, to celebrate." She could see he didn't expect her to say yes, his features already steeled for a rejection and the smile remained, her hand still on his knee.

"Okay," the shock was momentary, but there, and her smile widened, "tomorrow maybe, I'm here until midnight tonight."

"I can wait."

"You need to get a life House."

"I'm trying to," he said, pushing himself up with his cane. She stood too, looking at the mass of white medical supplies on her floor. She smiled.

"Come by later," she said, "I'm sure you know a place." He grinned then and she couldn't help laugh. She didn't know what was happening, between them, but dressing her cut had been so intimate, so...beautiful, and she wanted to see what else she would give her.

"I'll pick a nice place," he said, "can't let you be seen in a dirty bar."

"Not on the," she stopped, realising what she had been about to say, "another time maybe."

"Yeah."

"And thank you, again, for this," she said, holding her arm up.

"No problem, next time though, just give the guy the drugs," he said, leaving her standing in her office before she could argue with him.


	2. Treading Water

She hadn't expected him to turn up at all, let alone find him sitting at her Nurses Station at a quarter to midnight ,reading a copy of Cosmo. Her copy of Cosmo.

"You need a tv in your office," he said, not looking up from the magazine. She had to wonder which article he was reading, but kept her position against the counter.

"I don't have time to watch it."

"But you do have the time for 'The Best Sex Toys Of 2008'," he said turning the magazine around so she could see. Typical, she thought, blushing a little.

"Still buying me a drink?" she asked, glad when he closed the magazine.

"Why else would I be here at midnight?"

"Patient?"

"What a horrible thing to say about your former boss," he said in a mocking voice, pushing himself to his feet and leaning over the counter facing her, "how's you arm?"

"Fine thank you," she said, watching his eyes on her arm, "fifteen minutes and I'll go get changed."

"You look fine," he told her, looking her up and down, "as always," he added quietly.

"Unless you haven't read," she said, handing him her copy of Cosmo back, "pink scrubs aren't in this season." He smiled and took the magazine, opening it back up to the article about sex toys.

Twenty minutes later, she was changed and waiting for him to finish a different article (but still about sex). She stood leaning against her Nurses station watching the midnight rush happen around her, trying to ignore the twitch in her fingers.

"You want to help don't you?"

"While I'm here," she murmured, her eyes on an unconscious child being wheeled past her.

"Let's get a drink," he said, rolling his eyes.

Tuesday, after midnight, and the nearest, cleanest bar to Princeton Plainsboro was almost empty. Which suited him fine, he wasn't entirely sure what he was doing but he wanted to be able to talk to Cameron. Wanted to be able to listen to her. He knew she was surprised when he actually got his wallet out and paid for their drinks, letting her carry them as he led her over to a table in the corner but in the light. He wanted to be able to see her too.

"No date with Chase tonight?" he asked. He couldn't help himself, and he didn't know if she knew what she was doing either.

"Chase will be asleep," she said, taking a sip of her beer. There was little emotion in her voice, no clues to show how she felt about that.

"He's missing out, I never buy the drinks."

"True," she said with a smile, "taken your new team out yet?"

"Not yet."

"You should."

"Maybe." He shrugged.

"How are you getting along with them?"

"They're annoying."

"But that's a good thing," he nodded, "Foreman okay?"

"You don't know?"

"I'm asking you." He smiled at that.

"I think he's okay, hard to tell, he's always pissed off with me."

"Most people are."

"What about you?" It was a loaded question, he knew, and she smiled, showing she knew it too.

"Not right now," she said.

"Only 'cause I bought you alcohol."

"Maybe." He sat back in his chair, relaxing. His cane was propped against the table, her bag on the chair between them. Cameron sat back too, relaxing with him.

"Kutner is the most annoying, but I think he's crazy deep down. He's not as pretty as you or Chase," he said, "can't work Thirteen out, she'll drug me, but won't lie to a patient."

"But you like that, and she does have a name."

"I know."

"What about Taub?"

"He's easy to understand."

"You like working with him?" House shrugged. "You don't have to like him to like working with him."

"You like the ER?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Yeah, it's good for me."

"I can see that. I was hoping it was the ER and not Chase."

"Why?"

"I don't like Chase."

"You don't like anyone."

"Why does everyone have to tell me that like I don't already know it?" he said dramatically, making her laugh, "I dislike him more than...Cuddy."

"Ah, okay, what about me? Where do I come on your totem pole of hate?"

"I said dislike, not hate," he corrected.

"Sorry, your totem pole of dislike."

"Near the top, with Wilson," he said, not looking at her. "I almost like you." She beamed then, and he rolled his eyes. He almost regretted telling her that. Almost. "Did I tell you I like the hair?"

"Sort if," she said, picking at the label of her beer bottle. He looked at her questioningly and she smiled, "it's hard to tell sometimes which are insults and which are compliments."

"It was probably an insult," he said. He hadn't touched his scotch yet and knew he should, considering he'd paid for it (with Wilson's money) but he liked the near-clear headed feeling. He was never completely clear, his mind either fuzzy from Vicodin or distracted by the pain in his leg. Or both, which was the case right now, both vying for his attention but both loosing the battle to Cameron in a cream t-shirt and her blonde hair tied back. "Either way," he continued, "I do like it."

"Thanks."

"Does it match downstairs?"

"What?!" He smiled, she shouldn't be so shocked, he thought, at his crudeness, but she was anyway.

"Do the cuffs match the collars?" he asked.

"None of your business."

"No comment usually means yes."

"I didn't say no comment, I said none of your business."

"Just Chase's." She grinned. "Very pretty. Anyway." His voice was low and she didn't reply, and they were quiet for a little bit, Cameron drinking her beer and House finally took a drink of his scotch. He wanted to ask what they were doing, but he had asked her out, and didn't know the answer to that himself. Except he was having a drink, with his former fellow, and trying to get a life. Of sorts.

It didn't really change anything, until she shifted in her chair, crossing her legs and resting her calf against his shin. An innocent gesture that they barely reacted to, except her cheeks were flushing ever so slightly.

They weren't really doing anything, he mused, just sitting and drinking and chatting like normal people, like a normal couple almost. He wasn't normal though, didn't do normal but here he was. Here they were, with Chase asleep across town and he could just lean forward and kiss her.

Could, could, should.

"Want another drink?" he asked, downing his scotch in one, making her jump.

"Um, sure," she was frowning and he knew why, "I'll get them," she added getting up.

He watched her go to the bar, eyes on her ass in tight denim.

They weren't really doing anything, or going anywhere, but that was okay tonight.


	3. Illogical Maybes

She wasn't going to dump Chase just because she and House had gone out for one drink and the outing (date/drink/whatever) had been mostly successful. She wasn't going to, but she wanted to. But then, part of wanted to drop to her knees and confess her undying love for House. She was pathetic like that, and that's really what she hated about him, and that's why she didn't miss him. She didn't miss loving him, and not being with him, just what it did to her. Down in the ER, and with Chase, she was distracted.

Which didn't explain why she had gone on a drink with him, or maybe it did. Her brain got a little fuzzy when it came to House. Which was pathetic, and she hated him for it.

Loved him for it.

It did explain why she was opening the door to his office smiling shyly at him.

"Hey," she said making him look up at the sound of her voice. He nodded, trying to look impassive which he was finding hard for once. Even withblonde hair she still looked like she belonged there.

"ER's a couple of floors down," he said, looking back at his medical journal.

"What are you reading?"

"Journal of Allergy and Clinical Immunology." He held it up so she could see.

"What are you really reading?" she asked again, hands on her hips.

"Spiderman, Mary Jane is hot." She laughed as he edged the comic up from behind the journal. "No file, so you're not here with a case."

"Check up," she said, holding up a bandage and a pack of steri-strips.

"Can't tend to yourself Dr. Cameron?" She ignored, trying to think of a different answer than 'I just want you to touch me again'. He nodded and stood up, limping around the desk to sit on a chair on the other side. 'You just want me to touch you again', he thought, which was fine to him, because he felt the same and was almost disappointed when she sat next to him and rolled her own sleeve up.

Their drink had been a couple of days ago, and since then, they'd been busy. Well, she had been busy, House had been House.

"How's the ER?" he asked, unwrapping the bandage from her arm.

"Busy, how's diagnostics?"

"We have two patients. At once! Damn Cuddy and her power mongering."

"I'm sure you'll manage," she said smiling.

"Care to lend a hand?"

"I'm already doing your paperwork."

"Only cause Thirteen..."

"She has a name," she interrupted, hissing when he prodded at her cut.

"And Taub won't do it. And Kutner's a moron."

"And Foreman?"

"Brother's don't do the white man's paperwork," he said with a smile, "no infection," he added, running a finger around her cut, "you heal quickly."

"Is that a compliment?" He always made it hard to tell, but there had been more and more of his own special brand of compliments lately.

"It's a good thing," he said, "especially for someone who refuses to give drugs to crazy people."

"Which is bad new for you," she said with a grin and a blush, making House smirk. She watched his hands as he checked her wound, trying not to let her mind think of anything other than the fact he was dressing a wound. It was hard though, with his low careful movements. She loved the attention he was giving her, and was ready to drop to her knees again.

"Want to go for another drink?" he asked, his voice low, his face steel. Cameron hated that look, didn't miss that look.

"Okay," she said, smiling. His eyes flitted up to meet hers, then away again. "When?"

"When my patients die or are cured. Which ever comes first." She didn't want to smile at his cavalier attitude to his patient care, but couldn't help it.

"Good motivation to treat them though."

"Or kill them," she frowned at that, "no conjugal visit fantasies, no?"

"No."

"Just Cuddy then."

"Come find me when your patients have been discharged," she said, patting his knee and standing up. She turned around and froze when she saw Chase on the other side of the glass wall. The look he gave her and the pang of guilt that shot through her, made her feel like she'd been caught in bed with House.

"I'll see you later," his gruff voice brought her out of the moment and, on quick feet, she left his office and went up to Chase, kissing him on the cheek. He didn't react, and gave House a last look before they walked down the corridor together.

"I thought we were having lunch," the younger man said.

"We are, I just needed my bandage changing, and I knew House wouldn't be busy..." she trailed off, the half-lie made her feel sick.

"I would've done it," he said, looking at the white bandage. She hastily pulled it down.

"It's fine."

"Is something going on between you two?" His accent went up an octave with the accusation.

"No!" she cried stopping before the elevator, hands on hips. "We had one drink, and he dressed my cut." He slammed the button for the elevator, forehead furrowed.

"I thought you were over him."

"I am, I can't be his friend?"

"House doesn't have friends."

"Maybe he's changed," she said, not quite believing it, "maybe I've changed too."

"You have changed," Chase said stepping into the empty elevator. Cameron hesitated, then followed him in, standing a little forward of him as he leaned back against the wall. "We've both changed now we're out of his clutches."

"Clutches? Chase, he's not a megalomaniac." She definitely didn't believe that.

"It's House! Just because he's not in comics or films doesn't mean he's not a megalomaniac," Chase said, smiling. She smiled back, and it was true, they had both changed in the past few months, without House hanging over them, and she wasn't sure she wanted to go back to the person she was. "House has not changed," he continued following her out of the elevator.

"Maybe."

They walked out of the hospital and she looped her arm with his, walking close to him. She shouldn't dump Chase based on one drink and maybes, that was logical but she was a romantic, sometimes, and love wasn't always logical.

House had his own brand of logic that defied normal rules.

"You going to have another drink with him?" Chase asked, pulling her even closer, so that she was tripping over him almost, "as his new friend?"

"Maybe."


	4. Irrelevant Changes

She put her hands on her hips, took an angry stance, but grinned at House from her office doorway. He didn't move from her sofa, legs sprawled across the length of it, his portable television on his lap.

"My patients are on their separate ways home, taking their simpering morons with them," he said, not looking at her, "and you need a tv."

"I'm not getting a tv just so you've got somewhere else to hide from Cuddy," she said, the smile sticking.

"I'm not hiding," he said, flicking the television off, "at least, not right now." He swung his legs over the side and she always seemed to forget how impossibly long they were. And how much she loved them. "So, wanna go for a drink?"

"Sure," she said, forgetting about the ER for a moment.

"And food, you've got to eat right?"

"Dinner!" she squeaked, cursing herself.

"If you want to give the meal a name, sure, dinner works."

"I, um," she stuttered, not sure why she was hesitating so much over a simple meal. It was simple, right?

"Come on, I have Wilson's credit card."

"Um, I, I still have another half an hour."

"You're the boss, you can leave early once in a while."

"I can't," she said, glancing behind her.

"I know," he said smiling, flicking the television back on.

* * *

It wasn't a date but Cameron had reapplied her make up anyway, because she didn't want to look tired after her shift on the always, always busy ER. At least that's what she told herself, she was almost as good with rationale and denial as House, she mused, following him into the little cafe/restaurant that screamed date. Second date, her heart told her, and she internally growled at herself.

They were friends, because House had changed (maybe) and the dynamic between them had changed and a hundred other things had changed too. The weather, what she had for lunch most days, his cane. It was all irrelevant really though, because her feelings hadn't changed much at all. She still loved him.

Damn.

He held out her chair and she sat, and tried not to think about the last time they had done this. Which turned out to be easier than she expected because he ignored her shoes completely and she wasn't even wearing earrings.

"This place is my favourite," he said, "really hot waitresses." She smiled.

"I'm sure there's a Hooters somewhere in Jersey," she shot back.

"Okay, hot waitresses and really good steak."

He was being himself, which was exactly what she wanted from him and always had, so maybe she could live with being his friend if she got that.

* * *

It turned into a date over dessert, when he stretched his (impossibly) long legs out, his face twisted slightly with pain, and tangled them with hers. He didn't say anything, and she decided not to acknowledge it either, just enjoying the rough feel of denim against her legs, his warmth radiating through the heavy material. She resisted the urge to toe off her shoes and run her foot up his leg, and took a spoonful of their chocolate dessert he had insisted on her getting because he knew her PMS must have kicked in by now. A comment she was sure she was still blushing from.

He picked up his dessert spoon, his ice cream long gone, and helped himself to her chocolate concoction.

"Good?" she asked smiling.

"Yeah," he mumbled, swallowing, "you smile a lot."

"Excuse me?"

"It's not an insult."

"Oh, I," she could feel herself blushing again, and shifted her legs against his.

"Since you stopped working for me, you smile more, well you smile around me a lot more," he said, looking at her mouth and making her want to smile for no good reason. "I'm pretty sure more people die in the ER than in diagnostics."

"Maybe, but car crashes aren't my fault," she said, leaning forward to wipe a spot of chocolate from his mouth. He barely reacted to the gesture, his eyes flickering to her fingers then back to her face. "Bad diagnoses are though."

"Bet you still feel guilty over car crash victims you can't save, the people who are pronounced DOA."

"Maybe," she said. She dropped her spoon in the bowl and pushed the rest of the dessert towards him. He took it without a word, eating the remainders quickly and wiped his mouth clean with a small smile.

They skipped coffee and asked for the bill, House pulling his legs free from hers under the table without a glance, popping a Vicodin into his mouth. He dropped a credit card onto the dish with the receipt and Cameron picked it up and handing it back to him.

"I'll pay," she told him, fishing around in her purse.

"No," he said simply. She sighed.

"Split it?"

"No cash," he said, tapping his jacket pockets and only making his bottle of pills rattle.

"Then dinner's on me," she said. House smiled at her.

"You're not going to let a guy pay for his d-" he stopped and they both frowned for a moment, Cameron looked away first, the blush had become permanent, "for his former employee?"

"Nice save," she muttered, then in a louder voice, "fine, you can pay."

"Good." He smiled at her and she looked away again, his smile was starting to do funny things to her mind. He reached out then, and went to brush a strand of hair away from her face when he stopped himself, his hand hovering in the air for a moment. He put them on the table again, playing with his napkin, until he took the bottle of pills from his jacket pocket and took another Vicodin. Cameron raised her eyebrows at him and House shrugged.

"Particularly hard session with Mistress Cuddy," he said and she frowned, fighting against the smile of amusement with her worry. He signed the credit card receipt while she watched, and took a mint from the dish when he was done

"This is Wilson's credit card!" she hissed.

"I did say." She bit her lip to stop from laughing. "Come on, let's go before they realise I'm a suave diagnostician and not a pathetic oncologist."

"Suave, you are not," she said, following him out of the restaurant. He laughed and moved to walk closer to her.


	5. The Symptomatology Of Things

"Where the hell were you last night?" For a moment he saw Cameron, hands on hips, looking all cute and doctor-y in pink scrubs, one leg slightly bent with her weight shifted on the other. He blinked hard and saw Wilson, same stance but looking moody and pissed off in his brown shirt and tie combination. He tried not to analyse any of that too much.

"I had dinner with Cameron."

"You were supposed to be having dinner with me."

"I had dinner on you," he said, chucking the man's credit card over the desk at him. "Cameron has a better chest."

"This is mine!"

"Thanks."

"You stole my credit card and had dinner with Cameron." Wilson put the card back in his wallet then resumed his hands-on-hips stance in of House's office.

"Not the first time I've done either," he said, "I just combined the two this time, and I'm sure Cameron will be along to apologise for the credit card later."

"What are you doing?"

"Saving money, the interest is higher on my credit card."

"No, with Cameron."

"Making a new friend."

"You don't have friends."

"What about you?"

"I'm not your friend, I'm your enabler."

"It's nothing, we're just friends," House said, grabbing his cane and standing up, "she's with Chase."

"She'd dump him for you." House didn't reply to that, limping past Wilson into the other room.

"It was just dinner," he muttered, looking for a clean coffee mug.

"That you paid for."

"With your credit card."

"Yes, but..."

"But nothing, if it was anything else Cameron would put a stop to it. We're talking about little miss morality here," House said, tone angry, "she wouldn't cheat on Chase."

"No, but maybe she'd go along with anything you wanted until you decide what you want from her."

"I don't want anything from her."

"Everybody lies, House."

"Get your own catchphrase," he said leaving the diagnostic department completely.

zzzzz

Cameron would have clean mugs, and a full pot of coffee, he could guarantee that. She might not have a television yet, but he was working on that and he knew she kept various magazines in her office. He was starting to find Cosmo strangely compelling, and of course he could always sit in the ER and flirt with her nurses. That was always fun.

He didn't know what he was doing with Cameron. Dating seemed like the obvious answer, but she was with Chase and there was nothing else to indicate it was anything more than drinks or dinner with a colleague. If you discounted them playing footsie under the table and the brief touches of fingers against faces.

An affair seemed like the better answer.

"The symptomology doesn't make sense, at all, and the ER can't deal with cases this complicated. All I can do is stabilise her."

He walked in and ignored the conversation between Cameron and Foreman, heading straight to the full pot of coffee in the corner of her office.

"Got a case," Foreman said, waving the file at him.

"I figured that by the words 'symptomology' and 'complicated'," he said, pouring a mug of coffee, "want some?"

"No," Cameron and Foreman answered together.

"Are you going to take the case?" she asked then, her hands drifting to her hips. She was genuinely annoyed and it surprised him for a moment, because she hadn't been annoyed with him for a while. In fact, everything he did almost delighted her right now.

"Go rouse the kids pa," he told Foreman, "I'll be up after coffee and donuts."

"I don't have any donuts."

"Danish?" She shook her head, "No donuts, no pastries, no tv. It's almost like you don't want me here."

"I'll get a start on this," Foreman said, holding up the file again before leaving the room.

"What's wrong?" House asked, once they were alone.

"Nothing."

"You're annoyed with me."

"No, I," she paused, "I'm not not annoyed with you."

"Then with who?"

"It doesn't matter," she muttered, turning away from him.

"Looks like it matters."

"I was supposed to have dinner with Chase last night."

"But you had dinner with me," he pointed out, leaning against her desk.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I'd forgotten about Chase."

"No you hadn't," he said. He knew her, too well, she'd never forget about Chase and suddenly this slow and almost lazy friendship-cum-courtship was ending. And he felt sick. He pulled his bottle of pills from his inside pocket and swallowed a Vicodin.

"No."

"So, you're annoyed with yourself, and Chase is annoyed with you. Get him a present, make it up to him," he said quickly, looking away from her and at his coffee, "you know what a really great present for a guy is? A blow job, he'll love it, love you." She didn't say anything, but didn't blush either, which pleased him. She was getting immune to him. Or she was angry, it was hard to tell when she wasn't saying anything and he wasn't looking at her for longer than a moment at a time. "Anyway, I have a case," he said, putting her coffee mug down. He started out of her office, as quick as he could, running away from the end of whatever had started between them until she spoke.

"Lunch today?" He paused and turned around to look at her from the office doorway.

"Sure," he said smiling, "you can pay."

zzzzz

He took the seat opposite her in the corner of the hospital cafeteria, sliding his tray across the table. She looked up and smiled, and he forced himself to contain a small smile of his own. She should not still have an affect on him, not like this.

"I thought you were paying."

"I got hungry waiting for you," she said.

"Mmmuh," he said around a bit of his sandwich.

"I'll reimburse you," she said and he smiled at that.

"No need, I can afford a sandwich even on my merge diagnostics pay."

"Just don't get paid as much as an oncologist huh?"

"I don't bend over for Cuddy as much."

"Yeah, yeah," she said, trying not to laugh. A stupid part of him wanted to reach over and tickle the laugh out of her. But that wasn't the kind of guy he was, and he didn't even know if she was ticklish.

Everything that was going on, and everything that he was feeling, (the fact that he was feeling anything other than pain at all), all meant that, for him at least, this was more than him making a new friend. He had a friend, Wilson was the perfect friend, why would he need another. He wasn't sure why would want or need another person in his life, other than for sex but he did. He wanted Cameron.

He didn't think he could have her while she was with Chase, and Wilson was right, she'd leave the younger, prettier doctor for him in a second, or he could string her along for as long he liked. Or for as long as Chase could take.

"What are you thinking about?" Cameron asked.

"Article in the latest copy of Hustler." She raised an eyebrow and leaned over to one side, looking under the table, he leaned back in her chair to see what she was doing and found her looking at his crotch.

"Well that's a lie," she said, sitting back up and grinning. He laughed then, louder than he intended too and she smiled back at him.

The symptomology of this meant he was in trouble.


	6. The Eye Of The Beholder

"And he had phytoplasma in his eye?" Cameron said, with that look of wonder that that House simultaneously adored and was annoyed by.

"First case ever!" he said with a grin, then he leaned over his desk towards her, "I didn't even think it was possible," he whispered, face close to hers, breath blowing strands of her hair, "but don't tell anyone that." He sat back in his chair and she was disappointed when he was gone from her space again.

She had brought lunch to him this time, it was easier, and they sat on opposite sides of his desk, eating half cold cafeteria food. It was nice just to be with him like this, she thought. Just enjoying his company as he enjoyed his puzzle.

"How did it happen?"

"He's a plant pathologist. Some how ingested something in the lab and was infected with this phytoplasma, made it's home in the small intestine," he explained, "lots of nutrients." He took a large bite of his sandwich and she smiled, she was taking in everything he had to say but mostly just listening to his voice, and watching the expressions on his face that she thought border-lined on glee. "Phytoplasma decides to take a vacations, they argue, separate, end up in different hotels."

"The eye and the brain."

"Exactly," she couldn't remove the smile from her face.

"That's amazing."

"I know!" She could just lean across his desk and kiss him. And she wanted to, it was an urge she was feeling more frequently. Whether she was in his company or not.

"If you discovered this, does it get named after you?"

"Like House's disease? I hope not," he said, frowning. "I want something cool named after me. Like a guitar." She laughed. "It'll probably be named it after the patient."

"What was his name?" It was a stupid question, she knew, but asked anyway, just to see what he came up with.

"Steve?"

"Steve's Disease?" she said, snorting with laughter, and then blushing bright red.

"That was cute," he said, smirking, "and no, not Steve's Disease," he added.

"Can't remember his name?"

"Never learnt his name. Now he's phytoplasma guy." She laughed again. She was kinda happy, like this, and hadn't realised that she may not have been before.

"I better get back to work," she said, standing up, so suddenly she almost knocked her chair over.

"O-kay," House said, "wanna do something tonight?"

"Can't, Chase is taking me out."

"Oh," he turned away from her, to his computer but she could hear the disappointment in his voice.

"We should go bowling," she said quietly.

"Maybe," he said, shrugging and still not looking at her.

"House..." she said, and he turned to look at her, with that look of longing on his face that always made her feel a little bit sick with want.

"Breakfast," he said, "let's have breakfast tomorrow."

"You and I have different ideas of what time breakfast is House," Cameron said, feeling a smile tug at her lips despite the sick feeling, "I'm pretty sure this is your breakfast."

"You may be right, but I could eat around ten if pushed."

"Eight," she said.

"This isn't a negotiation."

"Nine."

"Deal," he smiled, shaking her hand. It wasn't a negotiation, but he was willing to bend for her. Just a little.

* * *

She pushed her food around her plate, her appetite gone and a perfectly good, perfectly expensive meal was going to waste. She wasn't really taking in anything Chase was saying, because she was thinking about House.

Her friendship with House wasn't just a friendship, at least for her. It had started out that way, she was sure, completely innocent (though, even she wasn't naive enough to ignore the flutter of her stomach when he had dressed her cut). The more time they spent together, the closer she got to doing or saying something.

"Allison?" Her head shot up at the sound of her first name, House never called her Allison, and forced a smile out.

"Sorry, you were saying?"

"Are you okay?"

No, she thought.

"Yeah, just...the ER was really busy today." With every lie she told, a piece of herself was breaking away. House would call her pathetic for being so melodramatic, but she felt it.

"Another pile-up or something?"

"No, nothing like that. A lot of people came to the ER instead of going to the the clinic."

"Idiots."

"Cuddy just needs to put more money into promoting it, that's all. I'm going to bring it up at the next budget meeting." Chase nodded, taking a bite of his pasta.

"House been giving you any trouble?"

"Of course not!" The words were out of her mouth quicker than she intended. He raised an eyebrow at her. "No, he's been fine. No one on his team can make coffee the way he likes it."

"He's an awkward bastard," Chase said. Cameron laughed.

"I like that about him."

"You like everything about him."

"Yeah," she sighed. Chase raised an eyebrow again but didn't comment on it.

Nor did he comment when she went home alone, telling him she had an early start at the hospital.

* * *

They hadn't really said where they were having breakfast, but Cameron knew well enough they wouldn't be having breakfast at his place. So when he showed up at her apartment, she was neither surprised nor unprepared.

Breakfast, in fact, was all ready for him.

"God that smells good," he mumbled half to himself, following the smell to her kitchen, having shed his coat and handed it to her without a word, or a good morning.

He could feign tiredness for the lack of manners, blame it on being too asleep but she knew better and she was fine with that. Let him grumble though a stack of pancakes if that's what he wanted to do, as long as he was there.

Trying to sleep last night, she had managed to think herself into circles. She had two choices, leave Chase or stop being friends with House, because it had become too clear that she couldn't do both. She felt like she was cheating on Chase, the way she felt about House was more than she felt for the younger doctor. She had to make a decision, had to do something because she was starting to feel the guilt that could destroy her if she let it.

Chase loved her, but she'd made breakfast for House. Made pancakes for House.

"These are almost as good as Wilson's," he said around a mouthful of pancake. She smiled, her stomach doing a little flip.

How could she give this up?


	7. The Inhibition Of Enzymes

House liked being friends with Cameron. It was a bit like working with her, he had decided, but instead of arguing about ethics over a patients bed, they did it over a dinner table, or a drink. And she was much prettier than Wilson, the hair, the curves, the smile. Her laugh. He couldn't make Wilson laugh this much, though he was worried she might choke on her wine at any second.

And the wine made her cheeky. Or cheekier, and bolder, braver. Or something, because she was already pushing back a little. He was enjoying it, enjoying her company.

It scared him a little.

He tried not to think about it too much, and instead thought about the story he was telling her about how Wilson had broken an arm falling from a fence House had convinced him to climb. And how flushed her face was.

"Wait, this was before this infarction?" she asked, voice light with laughter.

"Yes, but I didn't want to add another item to my criminal record, Cuddy was already out for my head."

"Have you always pushed Cuddy like this?"

"Since I've known her. She didn't start pushing back until she was the boss though, talk about power trip," he said, rolling his eyes with an exaggerated turn of his head, making her laugh again, "it's more fun this way though. Less sex but still..." He shrugged.

"You and Cuddy did have sex in college."

"Of course, and a couple of times since," he said with a grin, and she smiled back. "I'm drunk." Why else would he be honest with her about his past, and his personal life.

"Me too," she finished her wine with one long gulp. "Want another?" He frowned.

"You okay Cameron?" he asked, signalling for the barman. "Most people get blind drunk when they're upset about something, especially if they don't usually drink."

"How do you know if I usually drink?" she snapped.

"I know you. You're too smart to regularly drink like this."

"What about you?"

"I'm an idiot, I'd not denying it."

"Not going to blame it on your leg?"

"There is that component, but I was always a miserable drinker," he said, "so, again, are you okay?"

"No," she said, voice almost getting lost in the crowd around them.

"Want to talk about it? I can have Wilson here in twenty minutes, or Thirteen if you need a girl?"

"No, it's okay."

"Want to talk to me about it?" he said with a grimace.

"I want to drink."

"Good idea," he said, ordering a double scotch and a large glass of red wine.

* * *

They stumbled out of the taxi a few hours later, House thrusting several bills of various values into the drivers hands, wobbling on his cane, growling as he tried to keep his balance. Cameron stood on the sidewalk laughing at him, bent over, looking dishevelled and sexy, hair sticking out in places, jacket open, blouse undone an extra button. House was sure he didn't look nearly as good but had to concentrate on staying on his feet because he knew, given both their levels of inebriation, he'd never get up again.

She went up to him when the cab drove away, taking House's arm and supporting him as they walked to her apartment building. She pulled him against her side as they leaned heavily on the wall as she fumbled with her keys, laughing at herself and her own drunkenness. Trying to ignore the throb of arousal she felt with House's tall, lean body pressed up against her.

"Okay, I think I got it," she mumbled, looking at him. She stopped still when she realised how close his face was to hers, her lips suddenly millimetres from his cheek, the stubble a light prickle.

She forgot about her keys, her apartment and just how drunk she was and leaned into him. Her lips brushed his cheek and she was sure House had stopped breathing. So had she, and she pressed her lips firmly to his skin and he turned his head to face her. Their lips connected for a whole second before they pulled back a little to look at each other, look into each other's alcohol glazed eyes.

She pressed her lips against his once more, dropping her keys and wrapping her arms around his neck. He kissed back, lips soft against hers. House tasted of scotch and pills and him and she sighed, letting him slide his tongue into her mouth tasting her, hands on her hips. He pushed her back against the door of her building with a little force and she moaned into his mouth, their tongues fighting, tasting and taking what they could from each other, while they could.

Cameron arched her hips into his, feeling no pressure where she wanted it through their thick coats. She moaned, frustrated, and House pulled his lips and his body away from her, breathing hard, head bent down.

"House," she whispered, her hands caressing his face, trying to coax him back down for another kiss.

"Can't," he mumbled, "we can't."

"Why not?" she said looking up at him.

"Because you're drunk," he told her.

"So are you."

"I'm usually just high. You're drunk," he repeated, "I don't want to take advantage."

"Since when were you such a fucking gentlemen!" she cried, hitting his chest with both hands.

"Since..." he paused, _since I wanted more from you, _he thought. "I'm better than Chase," he said, voice a harsh whisper, hoping she hadn't heard but then she pushed him back, pushed him away hard enough to have to help him stay on his feet a moment later. He stumbled back a few feet onto the sidewalk, sobering up, and watched her pick up her keys with more grace than anyone that drunk should possess.

"Good night House," she snapped, leaving him alone in the night, running his fingers over his lips.

* * *

He woke up with a hard on, a hangover and a new dying patient called Hargreaves. Which solved the problem of his hard on, as Taub rambled the case down the phone to him, but didn't do much for his hangover.

But then, he did have plenty of Vicodin.

He'd dragged himself to his office, had made it for lunch, alone, sitting in his office, with music playing as loud as he could stand it with his head thumping and his stomach lurching with every beat. Probably a bad idea, it wasn't helping, it was making him feel worse, but he didn't think he deserved to feel better. So while his pets were off testing a dying man who seemed incapable of making enzymes (that was a puzzle), he was making himself feel worse, and worse, until he either passed out or died.

Or one then the other.

The music cut out and he opened his eyes to see Wilson looking down at him.

"What did you do?" he asked, hands on hips. Always hands on hips.

"Can't you put your hands in your pockets, or fold your arms like Cuddy. I know you don't have the breasts she does..."

"What?"

"Never mind."

"What did you do?" Wilson asked again, helping the man up.

"Nothing."

"Right..."

"I went out, I got drunk, a hot blonde kissed me and then I insulted her boyfriend."

"Cameron kissed you."

"How did you know I didn't mean Amber?" House said.

"Because you like to insult me to my face," Wilson said, "and Amber was with me last night."

"It's more fun to insult you to your face." House said.

"What did you say to Cameron?"

"She kissed me you know. I was just there, leaning, cause, you know, cripple," he said, holding his cane up.

"Like you'd ever let me forget."

"And then I said I didn't want to take advantage like Chase," he finished, ignoring his friend.

"Ah." House shrugged.

"If she hadn't drunk a bottle of red wine, I would've done her."

"Of course."

"And if I hadn't drunk a bottle of scotch."

"Naturally."

"Despite Chase."

"I don't care about Chase."

"But you care about Cameron."

"Apparently." He seemed as surprised as Wilson was about this. "I don't think she'll come bowling with me now."

"I'll go bowling with you," Kutner said. Both men looked to the door where Kutner stood, holding a folder in his hand.

"No, how's enzyme guy?"

"Shouldn't that be lack of enzyme guy?"

"How is he?"

"Not good, and all the tests came back negative."

"All of them?"

"Yep." Kutner smiled and handed House the file, skipping back nervously a few feet.

"Then it was a giant wasp," he said, looking at the results. Kutner laughed loudly, making House raise an eyebrow

"A giant wasp?" Wilson asked.

"Only cool people watch Dr Who," House told Kutner.

"You need to talk to Cameron, apologise," Wilson said.

"What did you do?" Kutner asked.

"Nothing, go test his liver again, another biopsy. Test everything again."

"He might not survive another biopsy."

"See these results," he said, waving the file in the air, "they are meaningless, I want more." He threw the file across the room, bits of paper flying to the floor. He switched his music back on, lifted his legs onto his desk and leaned back in his chair.

"Apologise to Cameron!!" Wilson yelled over the music. House closed his eyes. His hangover was still stopping him from really doing anything, from thinking about Cameron and Chase and enzyme guy and even eating. All he could think about was that every beat threatened to burst his ear drums, and his lips were still tingling.


	8. Not Entirely Anything

She was furious. Not with House but herself, and her actions the night before. From the moment she gulped down her wine, to the moment she kissed House. She didn't regret the kiss too much, even drunk he could kiss well enough so she lost the feeling in her toes. Which could've just as easily been the cold, or the drink, but she wasn't thinking so rationally. Not with a hang over like she hadn't felt since college. Or high school.

She would've slept with him last night. She had been more than drunk enough to pull him into her apartment and have terrible alcohol fueled sex. Which she had wanted then, but now, she knew she would've regretted sleeping with him. She wanted more, the hopeless romantic in her wanted different, wanted it to be special. Which was pathetic, (and the hangover certainly made her feel pathetic), but she couldn't help it.

Worst of all, his out of character gentlemanly conduct had made her fall just that little bit more in love with him.

She spent a couple of extra hours in bed, instead of going for a run or reading some of the backlog of medical journals. She knew every step on the treadmill would make her stomach lurch, every word make her head spin. This is why you don't get drunk Allison, she told herself, pulling the covers over her head and growling.

She just wanted to forget yesterday altogether. Forget about House and Chase, the ER, hell, the hospital entirely. Blink it out of her mind until her head stopped thumping. There wasn't enough Tylenol in the world for her hangover.

Her phone started to ring and she peeked out from beneath the covers. She could hear it but couldn't see her phone and covered herself up again, hiding from the daylight that hurt her eyes, and the world that hurt her heart. After a few rings the answer machine kicked in and she listened as the caller sighed, then hung up.

House, she thought. House could wait. Everything could wait.

* * *

"House!" He heard his name called out across the lobby but ignored it, and kept walking towards the main door of the hospital. "House!" Someone sounded angry, and closer. He looked up in time to a see a flash of Chase's face, distorted with anger, then the man's fist quickly going out of focus as it connected hard with his face. Everyone around them stopped, gasped, as House fell backwards onto the smooth floor, his cane following with a clatter.

"I don't know what you did, or said," the young doctor heaved out through harsh breaths, looking down at him.

"Neither do I," House said, feeling his lip. He grabbed his cane and went to stand up. "A little help for the cripple!" he cried out to the small crowd now dispersing. A couple of nurses ran to his side and heaved him up, he gave them a sarcastic, "thank you," then shooed them away with his hands. He opened his mouth to say something to Chase, who looked a little less angry, when Cuddy's voice came clear across the lobby.

"House! Chase!" she cried, "my office now!"

"Oh-oh," House sang with a grim smile, his lip cut and swollen, "you know this only just healed up right?" he added. Chase glared at him in a way he hadn't known the young man capable of and walked ahead of him to Cuddy's office. House smiled to himself, a little more respect for him than before. Just a little. He was confident in his walk, and probably right to be so cocky in his step, House would get the blame, he got the blame for everything. Okay, a good percentage of things that went wrong in the hospital were his fault, but this, he wasn't so sure this was his fault. Entirely.

Sure enough though, Cuddy's first words were directed at him.

"What were you thinking?" she hissed. House looked across at Chase, leaning on forward on his cane.

"I was thinking lunch, then a movie before Chase gave me a fat lip," he said. Cuddy moved around her desk, rummaging in her filing cabinet. She walked up to him and shoved an ice pack into his chest, smiling at the tiny 'ompf' noise he made.

"You probably deserved it," she said, "what did you do?"

"I don't know," he mumbled over the ice pack on his lip.

"What did he do?" she asked Chase, her tone softer for him.

"Cameron dumped me yesterday," he said as if it explained everything.

"Oh."

"That's not my fault," House protested, "does explain why she got trashed last night though."

"I have a few golden rules when it comes to House, Dr Chase, and you should know them better than anyone," House smiled, "one of them involves not taking your frustration with him, out on him in front of patients."

"I still don't see how this is my fault," House said, "I didn't even see her yesterday, at least, not after breakfast." Cuddy looked at him, mouth open in shock. "It wasn't like that, jeez, such a dirty mind for an administrator. Oh and we had a drink last night. Well several. A couple of bottles, wine for her, scotch for me. Not particularly good scotch, but after half a bottle, you can't taste anything anyway, I didn't ask if the wine was any good. Maybe I should've, but then, that's something you'd do, so maybe not if I don't want to be dumped."

"House! Do you want him to punch you again?!" Cuddy said, taking a step forward and Chase balled his hands into fists. "Cause I'll let him."

"I didn't do anything! Cameron got bored with him that's all. The sex was probably okay, he's had enough practise, but Cameron is way more complicated," he said, talking to Cuddy not Chase.

"What did you say to her?"

"I promise, on Cuddy's life, okay Wilson's life, I need him more, that, on our five dinners, the four times we went out for drinks, seven lunches and one breakfast, I did not say anything that would cause Allison Cameron to dump you."

"Yeah right," Chase spat out. He was angry, he had every right to be angry, but House knew this mostly wasn't his fault. He also knew that he was happy. Which was good. And bad. His leg throbbed, then his lip throbbed a second later, the two painssynchronising with each other.

"Cameron is complicated, there are lots of things about that woman that even I haven't figured out, which is damn frustrating," he said, "which is why I hadn't fired her, because I wasn't done working her all out. I mean, I get that she's damaged, like a kid chewed off part of a jigsaw piece, so it won't fit with the others and complete her," he paused, "terrible metaphor, but you get my point." She looked to Cuddy, who was leaning against her desk now, poised in case Chase hit him again. "As annoying as she is, I quite like that about her, but then, that's the only thing I actually like about my patients."

"You're a bastard House, that's all there is too it."

"You, on the other hand, are simple. Your daddy was an asshole, from an early age, so you need someone else to take his place in your life, and to suck up to. For three years that was me, and I was a terrible father, now it's Johnson. Who also drinks by the way." He looked at Cuddy but she was watching Chase still, and House took a step forward instead of back. If Chase was going to take another shot let him, he usually did deserve it. He wasn't entirely innocent, he'd pushed and played with Cameron, not always consciously though. He was drawn to the woman, more so recently. Because she was a beautiful puzzle.

"I'm sorry," he said, "but Cameron is her own woman, if she wants to leave you, she will, she wants to have me, she will." Chase's fist connected with his face again and he smiled until everything went black.

* * *

"House pushed him into it," Cuddy said, standing over House on the sofa in her office. She hadn't bothered to get a nurse, or move him anywhere. She'd called Wilson, they'd put him on her sofa and she'd left him there to come around. "I sent him home."

"Cameron kissed him." Wilson told her

"What?"

"He said, Cameron kissed me," House muttered, stirring on her sofa, the ice pack she had balanced on his face falling to the floor with his movements. "You call this care?" he asked, sitting up slowly eyes still closed.

"You don't deserve any care."

"Cameron kissed me!" He opened his eyes to see Cuddy and Wilson standing next to each other in front of him.

"I'm sure you've done something else to deserve it a split lip," she said.

"I know it's unlikely for you to do something that might be considered nice, or the right thing," Wilson said, "but you need to apologise to Chase and sort things out with Cameron."

"Cameron should sort things out with me," he said, feeling his lip, "this needs stitches you know," he told Cuddy.

"No it doesn't."

"Fine, I'm going to sue you then. Know any good lawyers?" he asked Wilson.

"Sort this mess out House," he said, leaving the office.

"Get a nurse to patch your lip up," Cuddy said, "then go cure your patient."

"I have a patient?"


	9. Due Care And Attention

Cameron came and found him in his office, and he'd stayed there once he'd left Cuddy because he knew she'd come looking for him to deal with what had happened over the last few days. And she knew him, knew he wouldn't go looking for her. She couldn't leave things the way there were, Cameron was too nice not to make nice. So he waited for her, because he wanted to make things up with her, sort the fucking mess out because he enjoyed being her friend, spending time with her, and she was good to look at, even if she was pathetically nice. He waited, even though it meant avoiding a patient with unexplainable heart problems.

Cool, unexplainable heart problems.

The ice pack was warming on his desk when she walked in, face pale, hair tied back. She was dressed for a day in the office, hiding away behind a stack of paperwork. His and hers. All the signing and charting hadn't been much of a distraction though, from the hangover or Chase and definitely not House.

"Hey," he said without looking up from his medical journal.

"H-what happened?"

"Walked into a door," he said, "twice, wasn't using it properly."

"Supposed to go through it, not into it," she said and he smirked. She came closer to him, and when she saw his lip pulled the medical journal away. "House, this needs stitches."

"I did try and tell Cuddy that."

"Let me fix you up."

"I'll be fine," he said waving her off. She leaned forward and ran her thumb across his bottom lip, making him hiss in pain. She smiled softly at him, and he hated the look of pity on her face, but loved the attention.

"Wait there," she said. She disappeared from view and came back with some supplies, dumping them onto his desk. She leaned back on it, and with her thumb on his chin, her fingers brushing his throat, she tipped his head back slightly. "This might sting," she whispered, suddenly aware of how close their faces were, she was thinking about their kiss, he knew because he was too and all she had too do was lean forward. They'd been in this position too many times over the past few months.

He was silent as she wiped an antiseptic wipe over his cut lip, not reacting whether he felt pain or not. She wiped the blood that had dripped from the cut down his neck, making sure she got every spot with firm swipes of the antiseptic, both getting lost in the attention.

"I think I'm clean Cameron," he said. She looked up, blushing a little.

"Can never be too careful," she mumbled. He smiled and watched her prepare a needle and medical thread, breathing in her perfume. She cupped his face, then took hold of his chin. "Hold still," she said. He stayed silent as she stitched up his lip, the tug of the thread at his skin a minor annoyance considering he could see down her cream top, and the lace edges of her black bra were enticing and fascinating, the way the black stood out against her pale skin and seemed so thin but strong enough to hold her breasts in place.

"You're looking down my top aren't you?" she asked, tugging another suture tight. He looked up at her to find her smiling over him, still blushing.

"It's a good view, you have a nice rack."

"Thank you," she said, "not sure I appreciate my breasts being referred to as a nice rack, but thank you anyway."

"Better than what I call Cuddy's,"

"True." She pulled the last stitch through then cut the thread, checking her work with a swipe of her thumb over his lips. She sat back and smiled.

"Slight improvement. Who did you upset?"

"You ex-boyfriend. I called him simple." He left out the rest, he knew Cameron would talk to Chase about this, yell at him for this. There was no need to make it worse on the boy by making Cameron furious.

No need but plenty of want. He wasn't sure why he wasn't making this worse for him. Maybe because he wasn't a threat anymore. To his friendship or thing with Cameron, or to his lip. Maybe because Cameron's niceness was rubbing off. That, and he had already starting spreading rumours that he'd hit House because of some gay love triangle. He didn't care what people thought of him, but it was fun to mess up Chase'sfuture potential love life.

"Then you probably deserved this."

"But you already knew that," she nodded, "and stitched me up anyway."

"Just because you're an asshole House, doesn't mean you don't deserve a little care."

"I want to be friends again," he said, blurting the words out in a quiet voice. "It was fun before..."

"Before I kissed you." She blushed bright red again and House wanted more, so much more, like what was hiding under the lace but not right on the heels of Chase.

"So friends?"

"We could go bowling"

"Can you bowl?" he asked raising an eyebrow.

"I can bowl," she said, with a grin.

"Tomorrow, if you don't mind sharing me with my other friend. Though I can flip Wilson off if it's a problem. Your rack trumps his ass any day of the week."

"No it's fine," she said trying not to laugh.

"Okay."

"Have you eaten anything today? I know I haven't."

"Wilson's yogurt."

"Yogurt?" She raised an eyebrow.

"He's gotten better at hiding his lunch from me," House said, "hides different items in different places. The yogurt was all I could fine." She laughed, the colour from her blushes staying on her cheeks and chasing the hangover away. "It's not funny, I'm wasting away from the lack of food."

"Let's go and get some lunch," she said shifting from her place on the edge of his desk.

"Okay, but then I need to do some work. I have a guy with a cool heart problem," he said, "oh don't worry, he's survived this long, I think he'll make it through a late lunch."

In the cafeteria they sat opposite each other like that had done a number of times before, and House had to ask. The curiosity was eating at him.

"Why did you dump Chase?"

"He," she paused, "he wasn't the one I wanted to be with," she said.

"You weren't happy?"

"I knew I could be happier."

"With someone else?"

"Yes," she nodded, smiling, shy now.

"Anyone in mind?" he asked, "one of your male nurses, maybe the new doctor in NICU, the blonde?"

"No." She laughed.

"Or maybe you've finally gone to the dark side, literally, and fallen for Foreman."

"No."

"Maybe you're sworn off men? Oh please say you've sworn off men, Thirteen's bisexual you know."

"Thirteen has a name you know," she said, "and no, I haven't sworn off men."

"Neither have I," he said, making her choke on her coffee.

"You are evil."

"It's one of my better qualities." She didn't reply to that, and he was glad for it. He knew who she'd be happier with, but she wasn't going to admit it, and he wasn't going to suggest it.

They were probably better off this way.


	10. No I In Denial Or In Breasts

It was surreal, Wilson thought, watching Cameron bowl a perfect strike, House was enjoying some sort of relationship with the young doctor and not brooding over it. Over her. He looked like he was taking anti-depressants again, because every so often he smiled. Not a huge full grin, but a small secret smile that Wilson could only assume meant he was enjoying some inner monologue. Not that his insults weren't coming as thick and fast as ever but the man was enjoying something more than tormenting both him and Cameron.

Possibly the way the young woman's jeans stretched over her ass and her low cut top.

Wilson had Amber, but he wasn't blind, and certainly not saint enough not to enjoy the young doctors outfit himself.

"Wilson!" House's voice cut through his thoughts, "stop staring at Cameron's ass and bowl." Wilson went bright red and Cameron laughed, a little blush of her own rising. "And step up your game, you're losing to a girl and a cripple."

"Step up your game?" Cameron said, "you need to stop watching MTV House."

"Not MTV, The Doggfather is on E," he said without missing a beat, "Snopp Dogg is a philosopher of our time."

"Doggfather?" Wilson asked.

"You two really need to start watching more TV," he said. Cameron rolled her eyes and Wilson was fascinated by the change between the two of them. Things were the same but the tension was different, the setting. He felt like a chaperone on a date, but without the date part. He smiled to himself and went to bowl, feeling a jab at the back of his knee mid-swing, causing him to throw the ball straight into the gutter.

"House!" he whirled around to find Cameron holding the man's cane, a surprised look on her face.

"He threw it to me," she said.

"Traitor," he mumbled.

"I'm loosing anyway, jab Cameron next time."

"He's just cranky cause Amber's out with the girls tonight," House said, "and I don't mean her friends, if you do know what I mean," he added, nudging Cameron in the side. She smiled, blushing again.

"She's out because this is my night with you House," Wilson said, hands on hips, "and stop talking about my girlfriend's breasts. Talk about Cameron's breasts for a change."

"For a change?" Cameron said, raising an eyebrow, "you don't talk about my breasts, I'm almost insulted."

"I talk about them all the time," House said, "he's just trying not to embarrass you by getting into a debate over who's breasts are better." Wilson and Cameron turned ever redder, but she smiled, trying not to laugh. "Yours are better," he whispered loudly. She did laugh then, hiding it behind her hand.

"Thank you. I think."

"I mean, if I could get a better look, it would certainly help."

"No," she told him flatly.

"Amber's are better then," he told Wilson.

"When have you see Amber's breasts?" House didn't answer and got up to take his turn. "House?"

"It's House, Wilson, he's hasn't seen Amber's breasts," Cameron said, watching him bowl his turn. When House didn't answer, taking his cane from her, then his beer from the table she couldn't help but ask, "have you?" House grinned, a sly twist of his lips again.

"Do you care if I have?" he asked.

"No, why would I?" She tried to sound innocent but it came out high and squeaky.

"Very nonchalant," House said, "if I say I had seen Amber's breasts would you show me yours then?" he asked.

"House." He looked over at Wilson.

"Sorry," he said, "would you show me and Wilson your breasts?" he amended.

"House!" Wilson protested, "I don't want to see your breasts Cameron, no, wait, not that I wouldn't want to see them," he rambled, "I'm sure they're lovely, it's just I'm with Amber and..."

"Wilson, stop, it's painful to listen to you," House said, "and if Cameron laughs anymore she's going to need surgery." The young woman was bent over on her seat, laughing hard at them both. "So, can I see your breasts?" he asked Cameron.

"N...o," she laughed out, hand over her mouth.

"House, I really don't think we should be talking about Cameron's breasts to much, or anyone's breasts," Wilson said, looking around at the bowlers in the neighbouring alleys.

"What, because those teenagers in lane four aren't talking about breasts. I bet they're talking about Cameron's breasts, that top is screaming 'talk about my breasts'."

"Okay, enough, is enough," Cameron huffed between laughter, "it's your turn cripple." Wilson smirked at that and so did House.

"Okay, looser has to flash."

"No!" Wilson and Cameron said together, both smiling.

* * *

Cameron beat them both, and Wilson paid for the beers that he didn't touch. Just so he could take her home on his bike.

She looked disheveled from the bike ride, sweet and sexy and after spending the last hour or so talking about breasts (hers, Amber's, Cuddy's, anybodys), all he could think about was the lace edges of the bra she'd worn when he'd stitched her up. That's all he could think about when he put his lips together, when his mouth was closed, when he felt the sutures. Which was a lot of the time. All he thought about most of the time was the lace edges of her bra, and in turn her breasts. Which was no different from normal, he thought about her breasts a lot of the time, always had, but something had changed.

He walked up to the door of her apartment building and it was exactly like two nights before, Cameron looking ruffled, sexy and thoroughly fuck-able. And sober. Three beers didn't put a dent in her, or him, and they were sober, if a little warm.

At the door she pulled her keys out from the hip pocket of her impossibly tight jeans and smiled at him.

"Want to come in for coffee?"

"Wouldn't that make this a date?" he asked, half hoping the answer would be yes, half hating that the answer would be yes.

"No, it would make it coffee with a friend, after a night bowling, with friends."

"Nope, I'm pretty sure that if you drop a woman off and she invites you in for coffee, it's a date."

"Only if there's sex," she said, watching carefully for his reaction.

"We both know coffee is the metaphor a sex."

"Not in this case," she said, not blushing, not angry, just...smiling. He loved it. "I just know you like my coffee."

"That's true," he said, leaning on his cane, pretending to think about it, "but I'm not coming in."

"Why not?"

"Because I want to have coffee, and I am using that as a metaphor for sex."

"Then we can do that too." He smiled, a little grin that stretched his sutures a little too much, the sting of pain couldn't remove it though.

"I'm not coming in," he said.

"Oh." She was disappointed, and that made him happy. "Why not?" Her hands went to her hips, trying not to let him know she felt hurt.

"Because three days ago, Chase was in that bed," he said, with all the honesty he could muster, "I want it burnt before I go anywhere near it."

"Okay," her smile was gone, and he didn't like that as much, but he wasn't going in, and this wasn't a date.

"My place, tomorrow," he said, "half seven."

"A date."

"Friends, sharing a pizza," he told her, watching her smile return slowly. He could be her friend and share a pizza and think about her breasts. There would probably be more masturbation, but he could do it. It wasn't easy (the masturbation), with the constant distraction of the pain (and no one to distract him from the pain by another body).

"Seven thirty," she said, she stood on tip toes and kissed him chastely on the cheek. He nearly broke then, the light brush of her lips over his cheek, a hair of breath on his skin, he nearly pushed her up against the door and kissed her senseless.

"Bring pizza," he said, walking back to his bike, breathing hard.


	11. Maybe Baby Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps

_A/N Notes: This is the longest one yet at 2093 words. I'm not sure what to do now. Stop here, or write the smut and stop then. Or keep writing until I get bored or die. Anyway. _

* * *

There was a television in her office.

Nothing special about it, fifteen inch portable, plugged in, remote control sitting neatly on the top. He grabbed it and pulled the back off finding batteries already inside. He started at it for a long moment, thinking back, she'd been adamant that she wasn't getting a television. She didn't watch a whole lot of it, he knew that more than anybody.

So this was for him.

He didn't know what that meant but he was sure it was pretty significant.

"It's a TV House," Cameron said as she walked into her office and around him to her desk, "I know you're more than familiar with the technology."

"I think so," he smirked and took a seat on her sofa, lifting his leg up onto the coffee table, only to have her tap his shin.

"Off."

"Cripple," he protested.

"Off," she repeated. He grumbled, and ignored her. She sighed, and grabbed a magazine, shoving it under his foot. He put the television on, and started to flick through the channels.

"I thought you weren't going to get a television," he said.

"I was getting complaints from the nurses," Cameron said, going over to her coffee pot in the corner and pouring out a mug, "thought if you were in here watching tv, you wouldn't be out there annoying them."

"Good idea in theory."

"Theory?"

"I like annoying your nurses." She smiled and handed him the coffee.

"I know." He took the coffee and watching her leave the office with the smile still on her face.

Very significant.

* * *

It wasn't a date, but she had put the effort into looking good, but casual. Tight jeans again, and a t-shirt, a small amount of make-up and her hair in a clip. He'd seen enough of her breasts on last nights chaperoned non-date, and she knew she liked her hair this colour, just not if he liked it up or down. And it wasn't a date, and he was House, so there was no guarantee he'd tell her anything. She just had to watch him carefully, judge his reactions.

His eyes usually gave him away.

It wasn't a date but last night his eyes had screamed otherwise. His eyes had been on her ass, her breasts, no different from any other time, but they lingered on her lips, her hands too. He liked her hands apparently. She wanted it to be a date, and so did House, she understood his reservations, about her, about Chase. Burning her bed was a little extreme, but she had bought new bedding.

Not that it was a date.

She had pizza and waited patiently for him to answer the door, trying to ignore the butterflies. When he opened the door, looking no different to any other day, having made absolutely no extra effort she wanted to kiss him, went to kiss him on the cheek at least but the pizza blocked her way.

"I got a dvd," he said, dipping his head and she blushed, embarrassed.

"If it's porn I'm not interested."

"It's not porn," he said, letting her inside and limping after her. "I have some porn for when you are interested though."

"Another time maybe," she said blushing over her grin. He sat down on his sofa, and she dropped the pizza down onto the coffee table, next to his propped up leg.

"Not going to tell me off?" he asked.

"Your coffee table," she said shrugging. She disappeared into his kitchen and came back with a beer for them both, sitting down in the sofa next to him.

"You can relax, it's not a date."

"I am relaxed, what dvd did you get?"

"Casino Royle."

"Good choice."

"Hot women in slutty dresses for me, Daniel Craig in a tux for you," he said, handing her the dvd.

"That almost sounds like a compromise," she said.

"No, just keeping you happy," he said, "Don't tell Cuddy though," he added.

"You're secret is safe with me."

* * *

"It's not a date, you don't have to sit so close," House groused. Cameron was sat on his left side, pressed up against him from shoulder to ankle, leaning her head towards him. The film was almost over, and she had buried her head in his chest, grabbing hold of his shirt when Bond had been tortured. Which he liked, unfortunately, it was exactly something Cameron would do.

"Why? Do I smell?"

"Yes, of Chase, now move," he said, nudging her.

"House," Cameron warned, glaring at him. He smiled at her, then shifted closer to her, as if the increased physical connection was all the apology he needed to make. She sighed, and settled further into the sofa and they were quiet through the rest of the film.

He was worried she was pissed with him. Not that it mattered, because he was always going to insult her and it wasn't like it was a date and he was trying to get her into bed (though, again, that didn't matter much either) but he was worried anyway.

He didn't like it much.

When the film finished they sat together through the credits, before Cameron moved away him with a sigh and stood. She stretched out in front of him, arching her back with a groan, and House groaned quietly as well. She smiled at him.

"I should go," she said.

"Okay." He got to his feet with more difficulty than he would've liked her to see, and walked her to the door. Even though it wasn't a date, it was certainly something. "You should stay for another drink," he said at the door, "finish off the six pack."

"I think you'll manage that on your own House."

"I'm really more of a passing out on scotch kinda guy, you should know that by now. Beer is for afternoons," he said, looking at the bottle on the coffee table, "should be one left," he added.

"Trying to get me drunk?" she said with a grin.

"It's not a date," he reminded her.

"I should go," she said again, in a quiet voice that made her sound sad. Because she didn't want to go, they both knew that, and it wasn't just about the sex, she just wanted to be there. Be with him, which she was sure he'd regard as pathetic, but she couldn't help that. And didn't care either.

With her jacket on her arm she reached up to kiss him, her intention to kiss him on the cheek, her body pushing her a little to the side to kiss him on the lips instead. It was a light brush that was enough to make him wrap an arm around her waist, pull her close and kiss her a little harder. She smiled against his lips for a second, holding onto his forearms as they kissed, his sutures rubbing over her lower lip, his tongue quickly flicking at her top lip to deepen the kiss. She dropped her coat when he backed her up against the door, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, the kiss moving faster into...something. Her heart was beating faster than she could remember it doing for a long time.

"This still isn't a date," he breathed against her lips, before tasting her again. She pulled away and looked at him, an eyebrow raised.

"Really?" she asked, her fingers in his hair, moving her hips a small circle against him, making him sigh.

"Maybe it is a date."

"Maybe we've been dating all along."

"If that's the case then we should've gotten past first base by now," he grumbled, dropping his cane. He rested a little more of his weight on her and she took it without a word, sighing and smiling when she felt him unclip her hair.

"Maybe it is a date," she said, "but our first date."

"What? You don't sleep with guys on the first date?" he said, "unless you're high?"

"Exactly."

"Well, I've plenty of Vicodin to go around, some morphine..."

"You have morphine?" she cut in, outraged.

"I'm in pain!" She frowned at him. "What?" She didn't know what to say, and his fingers were distracting her, fiddling with the hair he'd loosened, his other hand tapping a rhythm out on the small of her back. "We can't have been dating all this time," he said, taking a step back from her, letting her hair fall free, "not with you fucking Chase all this time, so if, if you want to go," he paused and she was always amazed at how quickly House could change the tension in a room with so few words, "maybe you should," he finished. He bent awkwardly to pick up his cane and she beat him to it, helping him to straighten up and she could see the frustration on his face, but ignored it.

"Maybe I've been too busy in the ER to sleep with Chase over the past couple of weeks," she said, stepping back into his personal space.

"Maybe."

"You don't believe me?"

"I don't believe Chase can go without sex for that long."

"So either I'm lying or he cheated on me?"

"He cheated on you."

"No, not Chase."

"You just dumped him for me."

"Yes, I broke up before we did anything."

"You would've slept with me the other night."

"And then I broke up with him!" she cried, "argh! Why are you arguing with me about this?"

"Because," he paused, then kissed her again, harder this time, pushing her back against his door, hands weaving up into her hair. She arched into him, moaning, angry still because he couldn't just accept anything at face value, he had to dig deeper, couldn't just kiss her and take her to bed.

Maybe that was it.

"Don't you want to sleep with me House?" she asked, pulling away but keeping her body pressed into his.

"I really fucking do."

"But it would make this real, the dating, the feelings, the fact that we can spend time together outside of work and get on."

"Maybe," he mumbled.

When had she gotten to know him so well.

"I really, really want to sleep with you."

"What about Chase?" she asked.

"I don't want to sleep with him." She smirked.

"Can you get over him?"

"Can you? If he cheated on you?"

"I can and he hasn't cheated on me."

"Maybe," he said and she hit him on the chest, then kissed him.

"Can you get past Chase, and every other boyfriend I've had. My husband?"

"No, but wouldn't I be that different person that you insist you don't want me to be if I could get past Chase?" he asked, the whole situation becoming a riddle. She smiled, and pulled him close to her, hugging him as he stood, tense in her arms. They kissed again, and it was getting sweeter each time he realised, the feel of her lips, her warmth against him, against his leg.

He hadn't forgotten but Allison Cameron was a wonderful distraction.

"You got a tv," he whispered, hand flicking her hair aside, lips trailing down her jaw to her neck, "that's what scares me the most."

"The tv?" she moaned softly as he nipped at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, teeth pulling at the material of her t-shirt too.

"You didn't want a tv in your office, but now you have cable..."

"For you," she sighed, and the hand on her back moved and slipped beneath her t-shirt, slid over the smooth skin to hold her side.

"Exactly," he said and she smiled. He probably didn't want to hear that she would do anything for him but she felt it, had for a long time. Actions spoke louder than words and now he could hide in her office, watch General Hospital and drink her coffee.

Maybe that's all he really wanted in life.

And sex.

And drugs.

When she thought about it, the list was longer than she thought, and much more complicated. But so was House, once you got past everything he was so much more complicated.

"Are you staying for another drink?" he whispered in her ear, before tugging on the lobe with his teeth. He loved to use his teeth she realised and she grinned. She knew how he felt, because as complicated as he was, she knew him. The tv had told him how she felt, the fact that he had admitted being scared told her how he felt. Very complicated, maybe. To anyone else.

"Coffee."


	12. Metaphorical Coffee

_A/N I usually don't post smut to , only to livejournal, but this wraps up the story.  
_

* * *

He was really glad Cameron had meant metaphorical coffee because he had never seen so much of her skin before and it was all so soft and pale and pretty.

"Any tattoos?" he muttered into her chest as he snaked an arm around her body to unclasp her bra. The t-shirt had been left by the door on top of his cane and they were making their way to his bedroom. He'd considered grabbing his scotch from on top of his piano but decided not to. He wasn't sure it was worth dulling the pleasure to dull the pain.

"Nope," she said with a sigh when her bra came loose. He pulled away to let it fall to the floor by his closet and took a look at her chest.

"Good," he said, "I'd hate to think anything was marring such pretty skin."

"I have a few scars."

"Don't we all," he said sarcastically.

"Sorry, I didn't mean..."

"Shut up," he said, kissing her.

"Stop leering."

"No." He ran a finger in a wide circle around a nipple, smirking when she gasped. "I can touch but I can't leer?"

"Shut up." He grinned, a dirty twist of his lips, backing her up against a wall, fighting her hands on his shirt as she tried to undo the buttons. "And stop squirming."

"You expect me to stay still when your breasts are right there?!" he said, eyes bright and wide, she smiled.

"Fine," she said, putting her hands on her hips and arching her back a little.

"Much better, we'll get to my clothes later, I promise," he said with a smug look and his finger circling her other nipple. She tried not to react, tried to keep her expression neutral as his fingers brushed over her skin and his eyes flickered back and forth between her breasts and her eyes. She tried and the fight against the sensations she was having was beautiful but the defeat was better, the sigh and the moan, her whole body relaxing in the little hallway towards his bedroom.

He bent forward, resting his weight on his good leg, one hand on her hip, the other cupping a breast, thumb smoothing over the underside. He took the nipple in his mouth and sucked gently, smirking at the gasped '_oh_' that escaped her pretty little mouth. He flicked his tongue and she jumped a little, smirking, he did it again and she jumped up into her toes again.

"That is so cool," he said pulling away.

"What?" she breathed,

"The little jump." She glared at him and he demonstrated, flicking his tongue over her other nipple and making her jump.

"You are evil."

"I know," he grinned and kissed her again, pressing his body against her, lips moving over hers fast and furious, deliberately rubbing the rough sutures over her lower lip. She moaned into his mouth, tongues tasting each other. Their kisses became more desperate as their hips moved against each others, thrusting back and forth a little. House remained silent, listening to her soft moans, her brain reacting to the stimuli her body was receiving. His hands on her hips, shirt rubbing against her breasts, lips against lips.

"I've not had nearly enough Viocdin to fuck you up against this wall," he said dragging his tongue down her neck, sloppily.

"We'll save that for another day then," she promised, arching her neck to let him lick at it some more. It was dirty and he loved it, biting down on her shoulder. "Bedroom?" she asked.

"After you," he said, talking a step back.

"Ladies first?" she asked.

"No, I just want to imagine your ass through those jeans." She smiled stepping around him and walking a little closer to the bedroom before stopping. She didn't turn around, and popped the button on her jeans, shimmying out of the tight denim then stepping out of them. House stared dumb struck as her legs were revealed to him, acres of pale skin, and a simple blue thong that matched her bra.

"Oh boy," he muttered, "much better," he added in a louder voice. He limped heavily after her, finding the thong in the doorway to his bedroom and Cameron lying on her stomach, legs kicking up in the air, smile on her face. A dirty evil smile. "Much, much better. Turn over."

"No," she said.

"Turn over," he stood by the bed, looking at her bare body, reaching out and running his hand down the smooth skin of her back, her ass and down a leg. She shivered at the contact. "Turn over," he repeated.

"No."

He slid his hand back up her other leg, fingers dipping between her thighs, barely brushing over her centre, then over her ass again. Her moans made him smug, made him smirk, as she ground against the bed.

"Turn over." She smiled at him and kicked up her legs again.

"Make me," she said in a sweet voice. House groaned and moved to sit on the edge of the bed, lifting his bad leg up to stretch straight across it. "And take off your shirt."

"Say please," he said, already working at the buttons. She ignored him, smiling still, blonde hair over her back, cheeks flushed, skin everywhere. Largest organ of the body, he reminded himself. He dropped his shirt to the floor and pulled off his t-shirt, throwing it across the room, eyes on her the whole time. His jeans were getting a little tight, but he ignored the pressure to lean over and place his hand on the small of his back, fingers splayed across her skin. "You are fucking gorgeous," he told her. She blushed, her cheeks reddening even more and he quickly skimmed over her ass and between her legs, fingers pressing hard against her centre before pulling away again. She moaned loudly, and rolled over, exposing her whole body to him, a wicked grin on her face and a shyness in her eyes.

He rolled onto his side, resting some of his weight on her, jeans scratching over her skin, making her squirm beneath him, putting more pressure on his erection. He kissed her, one hand on her hip, holding her down, half a mind on the feel of her lips and her skin, the other half on his leg, the throb, throb, throb of it.

Though that could've been his dick, it was hard to tell when it was this intense.

Either way he was going to have to lie on his back soon.

Even though they were already naked and had engaged in a little groping, somewhere between second and third base (or third and a home run, he wasn't sure of the exact measure), he was enjoying making out with her. She tasted like pizza, and beer, but with something sweet and innocent behind it all, which was exactly what he had expected, wanted. Which was what he had worried Chase had taken away from her, with his little dick anddominatrixes.

"Perfect," he mumbled and she smiled at him, then moaned when his fingers danced up from her hip to her breast. He smirked, couldn't help it, and pulled away from her lips and body, looking down across her perfect stomach, the dark curls that covered her sex.

"Jeans off," she said, trembling under the hand that was moving down her body. He was pretty sure anticipation couldn't kill a person, but experiments were always fun.

"Not yet," he leaned forward to kiss her neck, gently nipping down to her shoulder.

"Why not?" She moaned the last word as his fingers brushed over her centre, dipping in a little deeper this time and feeling wetness there. He wanted to swear, but grinned wolfishly into her skin.

"Cause I'm not done yet," he said before biting into her skin, pressing his teeth into her flesh, pulling away to see the indents. _Incisors, molars, canines. __  
_  
"You can show me your scar, it's okay."

"I know," he said, trying to sound more flippant that he felt on the matter, "but once the jeans come off, I'll be more distracted by the increased skin contact and won't want to play anymore."

"O-kay," she swallowed hard, and he shifted to kiss her breasts, fingers just resting over her centre and revelling in the warmth there, "but if you don't do something soon, I'm going to..." she drifted off as he slid one of his long fingers into her body.

"You're going to what?"

"Never mind," she whispered, arching into his hand, trying to get his finger deeper.

"No, carry on," he said, sliding in another finger. She didn't say anything, "I assume that's better?" he asked.

"Hmmm?" He laughed at her response and moved his fingers inside her body, wriggling them around. "God, House more."

"Not enough?"

"I need more."

"Need?" he asked.

"House," she warned, his name turning into a moan as he started to move his fingers in and out of her body.

"You know, it's not nice to pressure a cripple like this," he said, flicking a thumb over her clit and making her cry out. "Allowances should be made."

"We're not talking about the fucking wheelbarrow here I just want to, ah..." Her sentence was lost when he pressed his fingers against '_that_' spot, thumb flicking over her clit, once, twice, again and again.

"The wheelbarrow?" he asked, amused.

"Yeah," she breathed, hips moving in time with his hand, trying to get his fingers in deeper, turning her head to place kisses on his face. "Please House."

"I think I saw that in last months Cosmo actually," he continued, kissing her lips for a moment before shifting to nip at her breasts. "Not sure I could manage it with the leg."

"You'd have to do..." she paused to gasp, moan and smile at him as he picked up the pace of his fingers, "your physical therapy." He bit down hard on her nipple, pressed down on her clit and she came with a chocked '_oh god_', arching her back, pushing her breast into his mouth, his fingers deeper into her body. _Constricting arteries, dilating pupils, rapid respiration. _

"I'll think about it," he said when she relaxed, breathing deep.

"Really?" she asked.

"No," he said, wondering if it would be worth it though, to improve the repertoire positions he could handle.

He grinned at her anyway, pulling her to lie on top of him and she scrambled to sit upright and straddle him. She smiled back, her entire body flushed, her nipples red, lips swollen.

"You can take my jeans off now," he told her, thrusting his hips up to illustrate.

"You sure?" she asked.

"More than," he said, "I'm in agony here," she frowned, and he sighed, "a different kind of agony." She smiled and shifted down his legs. She popped the buttons of his jeans and he snapped his hand out to grab her wrist. "I don't want to make a big thing out of it."

"Okay," she smiled and stripped his jeans and boxers clean from his body, settling between his legs. She ran her fingers up his erection, glancing at his thigh when she wrapped her hand tightly around his shaft and his eyes drifted close with a groan.

"Now who's the tease?" he muttered, gritting his teeth as she played with his dick, her fingers dancing over the head, dipping in the slit to gather some of hispre-cum onto her index finger.

"Me," she said, with a little lilt in her voice.

"Cameron," he warned.

"Not scared of you House."

"I give out the orgasms."

"What? You think I can't make myself come?" His eyes popped open and he grinned.

"Oh I bet you can, bet you have toys and everything," he said, making her blush a little, "thought so, but I'm talking about the sort of orgasms that melt your brain and your bones, and leave you telling me you love me." She opened her mouth to speak, "not the little orgasms you give yourself just to get rid of the frustration."

"I do love you," she said casually, "you don't need to melt my brain to get me to say it." She moved up his body again, still holding his dick, but looser now. "Condom?"

"Yeah, yeah," he said, blindly reaching over to his cabinet and grabbed a foil packet. He ripped it opened with his teeth and handed it to her, and she rolled it down his dick with agonising slowness, smiling at he groaned at the feel of her fingers brushing down his shaft. "Evil witch." She didn't say anything, simply settling down on top of him, both moaning as he pushed into her tight body. _Tight, hot, wet. _"Fuck!" he yelled, and she grinned at him, the expression twisted with pleasure. He rested his hands on her thighs, holding on as she settled onto top of him, stilling and adjusting to him. She felt so good, he had to refocus his vision

"Yeah," she muttered, circling her hips. Testing, teasing, trying his patience. He thrust up hard in response and she cried out and House was really starting to like the '_ah_' sounds. And all the other sounds.

And the fact that she loved him was good too.

She started to move, slow, and he slid his hands up her thighs to her hips, holding onto her, a loose grip, his fingers tapping over her skin in a rhythm similar to the one she was moving too.

"Tell me something," he said, thrusting up gently and smirking at the little '_oh_' noise she made.

"You want to talk now? she asked, each word spoken on a harsh expel of breath.

"Seems like a good a time as anyyyyy" The last word was groaned out as she tightened her muscles around him, continuing her slow place. "Fuck," he moaned. She smiled down at him, leaning forward and changing the angle, making them both moan.

"What do you want to know?" she asked, her voice strained.

"Do your eyes always go so dark during sex?" he asked in a whisper.

"I don't know," she said, hands resting flat on his chest, hips moving a little harder against his. "No one's ever commented on my eyes before," she continued, breathing hard, each word followed by a soft 'oh' noise. "What with my breasts and ass so readily on display," she added, rushing the words out in one long breath. House slid his hands up from her hips to her breasts.

"Your breasts are great," he said, "and holding most of my attention right now," he cupped her breasts loosely, letting his hands bounce with them as she moved.

"But my eyes?" she asked, gasping as he thumbed a nipple.

"Almost black. It's cool actually."

"I've never noticed." She started to move harder and faster, loosing her rhythm and he started to thrust up harder into her body, her breath coming out in pants.

"Never had sex in front of a mirror?" he asked, holding her hips again, and gripping harder.

"Yeah, but I never really took much notice of my eyes before." He realised that probably said more about him, about this, than he wanted to be revealed, but it was too late to change that, and it was too much to think about while she was moving so fast, her eyes closed a little, her rhythm random and out of sorts. It made it hard for him to time his thrusts up but she was moaning anyway, and smiling.

Her eyes went dark and she smiled. Fascinating.

"Tell." Pant. "Me." Pant. "Something." She panted each word and he gave her a contorted grin back.

"Tell you what?" he groaned.

"Anything!" she cried out when he thrust particularly hard, and they kept the rough rhythm up, Cameron making harsh '_ah_' noises with every thrust of his dick into her body, House gritting his teeth.

"I would, would," he paused, concentrating on his movements for a moment, "give up my guitar for this."

"Really?" she gasped, "what abow piano?" she said, unable to form full words or sentences as they fought each other almost for completion. She was so hot and tight and his brain hurt with it. His leg hurt too, the throb of it, the heat of it was spreading, all matched by her, by the pleasure, it was too, too good.

"Don't push it," he hissed through his teeth.

"Not gonna make," she started, "not gonna," she rambled, moaning, and he felt it hit, felt her muscles contract, and her whole body tense up and threaten to snap above him, arching her back and throwing her head back as she came, cursing, cursing him, "fuck, House, fuck." He kept moving, kept thrusting up into her heat, as she burnt up, and followed her, cursing too, his thrusts becoming sporadic until his body was simply shaking as he emptied himself.

She collapsed on top of him, burying her face in his neck, breathing hard, pressing kisses against his skin every now and then. He wrapped his arms around her, and held her tight, rolling with her as she fell to his left and they settled on their sides, looking at each other.

"Good?" she asked, reaching down to pull the condom from him, turning to drop it in the trash, then turning back and burying her face in his chest.

"Duh."

"Need a Vicodin?"

"Nah, I'm gonna ride the endorphins for a few minutes," he said, lying on his back again, pulling Cameron back with him. She rested her head on his shoulder, wrapping an arm around him. He ran his fingers over her skin, trying to get his breathing even, trying to ignore the dull throb in his leg, his back, his brain, for as long as he could. "It's nearly healed," he said quietly.

"Hmmm?" She wrapped her leg over his and pulled herself tighter to him.

"The cut on your arm." She lifted her head up a little to look at her arm, and the newly forming scar there.

"Yeah, thanks." She smiled at him and he smiled back, his other hand running down her back.

"Cameron."

"Hmmm?" She was dozing off and he couldn't afford that. Because he wanted to say something, and because he didn't want to wake up in agony and with a dead arm to boot. He shook her a little. "Sorry," she said with a smile, watching his face carefully.

"I'm going to say this once now, and once on my death-bed," he said, looking away from her eyes for a second, eyes that were lightening and closing slowly. "I love you."

"I know," she muttered, "I wouldn't be here for anything less."

"Okay, now I need a Vicodin," she laughed and pulled out of his embrace to fetch his pills.


End file.
